HMN C27

Chapter 27

Step down the staircase, one step at a time.

It had been a distinctly different sensation. Just as Ahn Daeyoung instructed, Chiwoo’s vision shifted abruptly. The green-tinted glow of his unconscious gave way to a staircase, and when he opened the white door, he found himself skipping over time and place—from his old home before they moved straight into his uncle’s café. Somewhere along the way, he realized he couldn’t simply open his eyes at will, nor break free from the state of mind. The warmth and comfort that had felt so pleasant vanished entirely when Daeyoung finally told him to open his eyes. The soft cushion pressing against his back dissolved into the hard cement wall, and the cozy glow was replaced by the damp chill of the basement.

It was hypnosis—exactly as people described.

So… was he really caught in this clumsy attempt? Perhaps it was nothing more than his own mind conjuring overly vivid images. The flash of doubt kept his certainty from solidifying. Frowning faintly, Chiwoo muttered,

“What, is this…?”

“……”

The proximity where even their breath could mingle made Daeyoung tense. He pressed his lower lip inward, trying to wear an authoritative expression, but Chiwoo only examined his face in silence.

When I count to ten, you will feel an uncontrollable affection for Ahn Daeyoung.

Affection? He almost scoffed aloud. He’d never had that kind of feeling toward anyone—not before, and certainly not now. It had to be a fabrication born entirely from his imagination. And still, he wondered—Daeyoung didn’t seem interested in him, so why had he commanded a liking in the first place? Maybe he wanted attention without courting scandal, maybe he wanted affection without risk.

Chiwoo, after all, knew that Daeyoung was sensitive to other people’s opinions. That was why he embarrassed so easily over trivial things, fretted over rumors, and kept this sharp edge of dislike ready for Chiwoo—who just happened to be present for every public misstep.

That’s what you call delusions of self-importance, Chiwoo had told him once. It was in the same context: Daeyoung wearing himself thin worrying about what others thought, panicking that they might believe rumors—yet acting utterly indifferent to Chiwoo in the midst of it all.

Maybe now he had finally started wanting Chiwoo’s kindness or attention. Not that Chiwoo had much inclination to give it. His black eyes stayed fixed in place, unwavering on one target.

Even in the dim light, Daeyoung’s cheek remained bright. Chiwoo wondered if he even grew facial hair—or shaved it—because there was no shadow, no hint of stubble, just smooth skin across jaw and cheek. His focused gaze lingered on Daeyoung’s lips and chin; the large, round eyes and small, tidy nose were contrasted by a full lower lip, every feature coming together to create a striking effect.

He felt thirsty. Being trapped, perhaps it was time to drink something. Speaking carelessly, he remarked, “Instead of this nonsense, it would’ve been more efficient to do what you did last time—corner me.”

“What?”

Daeyoung’s brows drew upward sharply, and he swallowed hard enough for his throat to rise. Then, suddenly, he shoved Chiwoo’s shoulder hard, pushing himself to his feet.

“Why would I corner you? Are you sick?”

Raking his hair back and planting his hands on his hips, Daeyoung looked ready to spit fire. But Chiwoo, now standing as well, saw nothing but a bristling squirrel—or maybe a sulky kindergartener. At least he tried, for now, to avoid smirking—that was the maximum courtesy he could offer.

With his hair brushed back, the forehead usually hidden beneath a messy fringe came into view, round and smooth. Now he vaguely understood why Yumin Hye had once described him as “pretty.” Across from him, Daeyoung bit down on his lower lip, neck tensed as he declared he’d never once been trying to corner Chiwoo.

His lips, Chiwoo noticed, were naturally red. His neck was slender.

What kind of idiotic thought is this? Realizing he’d just mentally called someone ‘pretty,’ Chiwoo’s eyes narrowed sharply, cutting off whatever Daeyoung had been saying. Silence pooled in the dusty air between them as their gazes locked.

“……”

“……”

Clack. Clack.

“Hey! Is someone in there?”

Daeyoung’s head snapped around. Beyond the heavy metal door, the sound of the latch twisting came with heavy knocks against the frame.

“Yes, yes! We’re here! We’re stuck in here!”

“You’re students?”

Daeyoung hurried over, grabbing the knob alongside the voice outside, trying to speak through the small gap that wouldn’t open. He beat his fist against it for good measure.

“Ah, I thought someone left without turning the key back. Hold on—I’ll fetch someone right away.”

“Yes, boss.”

It was the same restaurant owner who had pointed them here earlier. Relief loosened Daeyoung’s chest. He rattled the knob a few more times, then let his shoulders drop, turning back.

“……”

If anything, Chiwoo’s expression was exactly the same as before—calm, unbothered—as he bent to pick up the necklace from the floor. Daeyoung realized he must have dropped it earlier, startled when Chiwoo had leaned in. He reached out for it, but Chiwoo just examined it in his palm.

“What’s this? Where’d you get it?”

“Huh?”

Daeyoung hesitated. Chiwoo’s eyes narrowed.

“Ah. Did you steal it?”

“No! It was a gift.”

“From who?”

Why was he suddenly interrogating him when he could hardly be bothered about anything else? But Daeyoung had no desire to begin a story with my parents run a restaurant back home…

“My mom’s friend.”

It was the simplest possible answer. Chiwoo didn’t look convinced, inspecting him as though testing its truth. Ignoring it, Daeyoung slipped the necklace back into his pocket.

“Student! I’ve brought someone! Just wait a moment!”

Perfect timing—the sound of footsteps approached. Voices murmured outside, punctuated clearly by the boss’s drunken declaration: No, I was having a drink!

Yet despite having rallied a good four or five grown men, the door opened easily in just two tries. The panel that had held firm through all their body blows now swung with ease and a squeak, closing again just as smoothly. The owner apologized, insisting it had just been bad luck. Daeyoung only nodded.

“It was just the door,” he said.

It hadn’t been a deliberate trap—only a faulty latch waiting for someone to be unlucky enough to meet it. At least they’d gotten out before hunger or bathroom needs came calling.

“I hear you were stuck in there!”

“Ah, yes. We were moving supplies.”

The volunteer team leader stood outside the building, overseeing the day’s helpers. Offering a stiff smile, Daeyoung replied. The earlier blazing sun had now dipped into gold. By feel, it seemed they had been trapped for nearly half the day. He drew a deep breath—the scent of the basement was gone entirely now.

Even the faint hum of festival music they’d heard underground had ended. Walking alongside the team leader, he noticed other students already packing up. But Chiwoo had vanished. Turning his head, he spotted him again—wedged back into a circle of elderly volunteers. In the distance, Chiwoo’s expression seemed less smug now, edged with discomfort.

What is he, the Pied Piper? A wry laugh escaped Daeyoung.

“Daeyoung, have some water.”

“Yes—let me get my phone first.”

From now on, even if he found it irritating, he’d make sure his phone stayed with him. After saying goodbye to the leader, he went into the event tent where his bag was stored. It wasn’t even the end of the day yet, but being trapped briefly in a basement had drained him completely. Maybe it was just being stuck with the energy vampire that was Go Chiwoo.

He shoved his phone into his pocket, replacing it in the bag with the necklace, burying it deep. Wait—could he still smell kimchi? Rotating his sore wrist in slow circles, he pushed himself upright with a soft groan.

It wasn’t until he reached home that he realized he’d never directly asked whether the hypnosis had worked or failed. Judging by Chiwoo’s utter lack of kindness afterward, it was plainly a failure—yet if so, why had he kept his eyes closed right to the last count? Could he really have been that committed to mocking him? The thought of hearing Chiwoo’s smug accusation—that Daeyoung wanted him to be nicer—was already making his head ache.

Why did I even do that? He sighed, long and deep.